


What Can You Do?

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: F/M, Time Shenanigans, rampant headcanon, that is an Actual tag god bless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 14:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: Rosetta and Jacques-Rosé go to Dolce Restaurant for dinner, but the owners have already left town aboard the Flying Pussyfoot... or have they?





	

**Author's Note:**

> any reasonable person: girl, you gotta stop trying to make decisions about how Rosetta works.  
> me, shoulder-deep in theories and shouting something about nonlinear time: hey fcuk yuo
> 
> This is a guess, please take it with many grains of salt. idek if I still stand by it. but it's kind of cute? Except for Rosetta kinda gaslighting her boyfriend a little. You should stop that, ma'am.

The interlude with Nader seems to have distracted Jacques-Rosé from his ‘dream’ and lifted his spirits, which is a relief to Rosetta. Taking the gun out of that mobster’s hands had taken energy that she’d barely had available, after all the hassle with the Flying Pussyfoot, and she’s exhausted. She’s glad for Jacques-Rosé’s arm around her shoulders when they get out of the car and head into Dolce.

She feels a simmering sense of foreboding as they step into the restaurant, and all she can do is hope it doesn’t come to fruition.

And, for a few minutes, it seems that it won’t. They take a seat and order some ribs. The waiter—Charles, for now—moves about the restaurant busing tables and taking orders. But Jacques-Rosé looks around in increasing confusion, and when Charles comes back with their waters, he asks, “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Suess? They usually come out to say hi.”

Charles grins in response. “They’re taking a vacation for once,” he explains. “Their first in _years_ , I might add. They’re off to visit New York.”

Rosetta watches Jacques-Rosé’s eyes narrow in suspicion. _Damn_ , she thinks.

“How are they getting there?” he asks warily.

“They just left town on the Flying Pussyfoot—”

“No!”

Jacques-Rosé leaps to his feet, knocking his chair backwards with a clatter that draws the attention of the whole restaurant. His face is pale and his eyes are wide; his hands tremble.

“That train…”

“Jacques-Rosé, sit down,” Rosetta says, but too quietly for him to hear her.

“They’re in danger!”

He’s going to run for it. Rosetta manages to get to her feet and grab the end of his ponytail just in time to stop him. Her muscles ache with fatigue, but he’s making a scene and there’s no point in his rushing off.

“Jacques-Rosé, there’s nothing you can do.”

He looks back at her, distress still clear in his eyes. “Rosetta, you don’t know what’s about to happen on that train—”

“It’s already left the station,” is what she says rather than debate his point. But that just changes the distress on his face to horror, so she adds, “And it was just a dream, Jacques-Rosé. You don’t know that it’s actually going to happen.”

He wilts. “But all the passengers… Jacuzzi, and Isaac and Miria, and Czeslaw… I saw them getting onto the train in real life.”

 _Czeslaw_ stabs _you!_ , she wants to remind him, but even if it were safe to refer to that as a plausible reality without hurting her case, he wouldn’t blame the childlike Immortal. All she really has to say to keep him here is, “The train has left. Even if you ran all the way back to the station, it would be far too late to stop it now.”

Jacques-Rosé stands stock-still for a moment, his brow furrowed; then he moves to right his chair and slumps back down into it. Rosetta sits, too, and corrects her scarf, self-conscious of the stares of the other patrons and of the dejection in her boyfriend’s face.

“They’ll be fine,” she promises him, because she sees them back here in a few weeks, shaken but unharmed. Not that she intends to explain that much.

Charles, still hovering nearby, is quick to reassure him as well. “They will!” he says. “Mrs. Suess is always talking about how great her sixth sense is. If there were a problem with that train, I’m sure she wouldn’t board.”

“…Yeah…”

It doesn’t cheer Jacques-Rosé up. Charles drifts away to help the other patrons, and Rosetta sips awkwardly at her water. “They’ll be fine, Jacques-Rosé.”

He only puts a hand to his chin in thought, his gaze directed unseeingly at the table. “I would have seen them if they were in the dining cabin, right? And the Rail Tracer only devours evil… so they’ll be safe… won’t they?”

“It was just a dream, Jacques-Rosé,” she lies, touching his arm. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

But he remains concerned. He isn’t going to be able to shake this fear, and it’s not as though it’s actually unreasonable. The Suesses are in first class, which means they’re where the Lemures are; which means they’ll be hearing machine gun fire and explosions all night. They’ll emerge unscathed, physically, but that kind of thing takes a mental toll. And there is a teetering possibility that Mr. Suess will try to act against the hijacking—

Rosetta sighs, bone-weary.

“I need to use the restroom,” she says quietly.

Jacques-Rosé lifts his eyes for just a moment. “All right. Be careful.”

“Jacques-Rosé, it’s just the restroom.”

“I know. But…”

But he’s frightened. Of course he’s frightened. Who wouldn’t be, after what he’s seen? Rosetta retreats to the restroom and shuts herself into a stall. Leaning against the wall, she takes a deep breath. She must be insane to do this. She knows it’s pointless, and it would be a challenge even if she weren’t already tired.

But Jacques-Rosé’s fear is tangible, and it’s at least partially her fault that he feels that way.

So she takes one more deep breath, and she closes her eyes and reaches.

*

She doesn’t emerge from the restroom until her head stops pounding and her trembling returns to an unnoticeable level. Even so, her exhaustion leaves her feeling like she’s walking through fog. She pushes the bathroom door open and her arms ache like they have anything to do with what’s made her tired.

Her timing is perfect, though—it usually is—because just as she rejoins Jacques-Rosé at the table, Dolce’s front door swings open and in walk Mr. and Mrs. Suess. She watches the worry on his face transform into relief and joy. Good. She takes a seat, smiling as well.

“Mrs. Suess! Mr. Suess!” Jacques-Rosé calls, waving them over. “I thought you two were leaving town.”

Mr. Suess, suitcase on one arm and the other arm around his wife, smiles awkwardly. “Well, we _were_ going to take a nice trip on the Flying Pussyfoot…”

Mrs. Suess shakes her head. “I told you, dear, something awful is going to happen on that train. You’ll be glad we didn’t board, mark my words.”

“So you keep saying…”

Jacques-Rosé stands and offers his chair to Mrs. Suess, but her husband pulls up two new chairs instead. Jacques-Rosé remains standing until Mrs. Suess is comfortably seated, and then he touches her hand as he sits down again.

“I know what you mean about that train. Something’s going to go wrong tonight. People are going to die.”

Her eyes widen. “Then you felt it, too?”

“I sure did, ma’am. I was going to be on board, too, but you wouldn’t believe the dream I had this morning…”

“I might. I just might, young man.”

Her sense of foreboding is nothing as complex as Jacques-Rosé’s dream, but the two are soon deep in conversation about the train. Mr. Suess sighs and meets Rosetta’s eyes as they chatter away, mouthing, _What can ya do?_

She shrugs back. What can one do, indeed.


End file.
